


Living Nightmare

by BusinessWolf



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Jack Morrison - Freeform, M/M, Mental Torture, Paranormal, Reaper - Freeform, Soldier: 76 - Freeform, gabriel reyes - Freeform, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7576411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BusinessWolf/pseuds/BusinessWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soldier: 76, formerly known as Jack Morrison, is experiencing strange events taking place a in his temporary hide out. Feeling guilt over the events which occurred in Switzerland, the stress of his own injuries and daily living, and the distinct sense of not being alone are really starting to wear on him. Something, or someone, has found him, and appears hellbent on making him suffer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically going to be me theorizing over what kinds of ghost things Reaper can do. I feel like if Reaper did find 76 and where he lived, he would want to make him feel like he was losing his mind. Since destroying his body didn't work, it would make sense for him to attack his psyche.

When he opened his eyes, Jack Morrison was startled. Blinking, he sat up in bed, his mind flooding with panic as the room appeared to be nothing more than blurry shapes and fuzzy colors. Realization slowly trickled in that this was how he had awoken every morning this week. And the week before. And the week before that. It was still jarring, having lost a sense he'd relied so much on. Hands reached up as he shut his eyes, palms rubbing the sleep from their corners. He let them drop from his face as he let out a sigh. Reaching over to the stand beside him, he procured his optical visor and set both sides on his ears, clipping the red glass in place afterward.

Now, there were outlines. Data began streaming in before his eyes, information he was being relayed by the device to better make out what his surroundings were. He had most of them memorized by now, but he double checked, just to make sure. Dresser, wardrobe, jacket, rifle, crate, keys. Each object was softly lit, color coded on the screen to make it even easier. This filter could be switched, going between night setting and heat signatures, also able to display more detailed images than his eyes could receive. The distance was mostly the issue.

Swinging his legs over the side of the creaky bed, he let his toes run through the short fringes of carpet. Only for a second. The loss of most of his vision meant the rest of his senses were heightened. A delightful trill of chirps caught his attention just outside of his window. The chimes from a neighbor's house turned his head back, and the continued aching wood beneath his feet was ever present. As he took in a deep breath, he detected freshly trimmed grass from outside, the smell of someone's breakfast cooking, and the mild musty odor that was the rickety apartment.

Routine also helped with his disability. He started every day in the same manner. Down the hall he went, to brush his teeth, shave if need be, make breakfast, and catch up on the latest news holovids. As he reached for his toothbrush and paste, however, his sensors indicated a mild heat signature behind him. Startled, he whipped around. Only to find, nothing. An ominous chill coursed up his spine, settling in the base of his skull as he clicked his teeth. Heart still very much pounding in his chest, he squirted a glob of minty paste onto the bristles, wary of the indicators in his peripheral vision.

Uneventfully, he finished the first part of his ritual with no other incident. In the kitchen, he selected some eggs, cheese, tomatoes, and onions. Very much a treat for breakfast. But sorely needed. Even as he whisked the eggs, he could feel his stomach gurgle.

"You are so plain. No spices, no flavor. No anything."

The voice, so quiet in his ear, gave him another start. But this time, he was quite sure he imagined it. No fluctuation in any displays. And it was something he'd heard before. A heavy, sinking ache filled his chest. The person who had said it to him was long gone. A tragedy that still confused him to this day, and one he felt the cold grip of guilt and responsibility for. Letting out another sigh, he flipped his omelet, looking down to his hand after to see it calming down from shaking.

He ate slowly, not entirely feeling hungry after these two instances, but he had to keep his strength. And wasting food at present was not an option. Fork resting on his plate, he opened a lap top and booted it up. The screen came to life, a soft blue glow emanating from the holographic material. Date, time, temperature... Jack made a mental note that it was due to rain as he clicked to view his news source. Somehow, he started to get that feeling again. A creeping sensation like eyes boring into his back. He whipped around, finding nothing, before continuing to read. It was nothing. Just him seeing things again. Perhaps he should perform some maintenance on the visor...

The events of that morning drifted to the back of his memory, a few days passing without significant concern. It was quiet, calm, normal. As normal as it got for a fugitive anyway. In the midst of shaving, his blade carefully gliding over his damaged skin, there was a sound. A loud sound. The ex Overwatch operative nearly cut himself as he felt his shoulders jerk. He turned the corner of the bathroom door, the visor almost too slowly focusing for his patience as he determined the source.

A picture frame. The only one he had. It had been knocked over. Half his face still coated in cream, he paced over to the object to scoop it up. Under the glass, the smiling faces of his former team mates looked back up at him. Reinhardt's was the biggest and brightest, the man sure loved to smile. Torbjorn... Mercy... Reyes. Reyes. A deep breath of regretful air eased from Jack's lungs. So many mistakes, so many missed red flags, so much pain. His thumb remained over his figure, bitter realization returning that there had been a serious reason Reyes had turned away from the camera. Had always appeared unhappy.

As the soldier wished that his former friend would have turned around to tell him what was wrong, the image moved. Unblinking, he watched as Reyes did just that. The photograph began to shift, melting in his hands. His expression was full of hatred, so sharp and biting, he could see the fire pooling in his eyes. This turned into an inferno that engulfed the image, flames scorching out half the picture before Jack dropped it. He staggered backwards. In shock. Disbelief. What had just happened? He blinked.

More cautiously than ever, the man took a tiny step forward. One more. Another. And he picked up the frame. To his complete surprise, the image was untouched. All the faces were joyous, expect Reyes. But his back was turned. He was in tact. Confused, Jack opened a drawer and slipped the object inside, shaking his head as he returned to the restroom.

This would only be the beginning.

For days after, he had terrible nightmares. Some abstract, some filled with only feelings of dread, some... flashbacks. Painful memories that made his entire body ache when he woke up. His heart beat in his throat, skin coated with sweat, ringing in his ears.

And when he was sure he was awake. Activity continued. Cabinets thudding, doors creaking open and slamming shut, faucets bursting to life before suddenly stopping to become a slow drip. Morrison heard each and every drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drop. Hammering into the back of his skull.

It was maddening. And nothing he could try or think to try would fix it. Not the doors or pipes or even his mind. Drinking seemed to make it worse. There was no medicine he tried that helped. Days turned into weeks, and one week turned into him remaining in bed, lost. Lost to the voice. The one he swears he could still hear.

"You're a little slow today."

"Did you mean to miss that shot?"

"You are better than you give yourself credit for."

"Yes... I'm happy for you."

"I'm fine."

"Of course I'm not!"

"I hate you!"

"You ruined my life! They ruined my life!"

"This is your fault!"

"YOU LEFT ME TO DIE!"

Gasping for air, Jack sat up in bed. He held the sides of his head in both hands, panting. The words stung his ears, numbed his brain. He felt freezing, skin ice to the touch, but he was panting and sweating fit to overheat. Nausea unsettled his stomach, making it turn as if he were aboard a boat. Churning ocean water. Shakingly, he got up. His legs brought him to the tiny bathroom. Leaning over the toilet he held his chest. But nothing happened. Gradually, the feeling subsided.

Enough was enough. Still supporting himself on the wall, he returned to his bedroom, and once he yanked open the dresser drawer, he scrambled to find the cell phone. The emergency phone. To Mercy.

The dial rings barged on like ominous church bells, the tones grating against impatient ears. Once... Twice... Three times... Until.

"Hallo?"

"Something's wrong. I don't know if I'm sick, if I'm possessed, or if I'm justplaincrazy-"

"Slow down, deep breaths, Soldier..."

"I need help, Doctor...."

"Remain where you are. Deep breaths. It may take me a few days to get to you. Take your temperature, and call me in ze morning. I will get to you as quickly as I can."

"Yes, ma'am..."

He didn't hang up. Couldn't bring himself to sever the connection. He didn't even bring the phone down from his ear until he was sure the other line had long been dead. Fingers shaking, he shut the phone.

"Well now, that took longer than expected. You really are something Jack... Tough to crack..."

Now that voice was here. In this room. Immediately, the soldier swiveled, looking for his visor and his weapon. For some reason, the room was pitch dark. Solid black, with no light coming in from the window that should have been beside him. It was warmer now, and smoke. He could smell burning, tongues of smoke settling in his nostrils. He began to feel woozy again.

"Who's there?! Show yourself!"

"I am."

And suddenly, from the soupy mist before him, a skull appeared with an awful snarl, producing a tongue that he could see with remarkable clarity. Shouting, Jack scrambles backward, finding himself falling to the floor.

"You really are helpless in the dark, aren't you?"

"What do you want from me?!" He demanded instead of answering such a question. Blinking, his hands scrambled behind him to try to relocate his night stand. He needed his visor.

"Thought you would have caught on by now. You always were smarter than I was. Isn't that true."

Still struggling, listening as thick boots clicked against the floorboards. Whatever or whoever it was was drawing nearer.   
"Come on..." He breathed to himself, backing up more quickly. Where was it...?? Where was it....

"Aw, am I scaring you, Jack? Am I giving you a hard time?"

"Enough! I'm tired of your games! ENOUGH!!" Quickly, he snapped up to his feet, giving up the search for now. The darkness was still all around him, squeezing it felt like. Growing closer, getting thicker. Threatening. Until. He felt fingers wrap around his neck. Throat getting tighter, harder to swallow. To breath. The face returned, bone shifting, lighter smoke wraping around the skeletal frame. Forming something. A face. A face he knew very well. Even without his visual enhancer.

"... Gabriel..."


End file.
